Call Me Tom
by rejectdemon
Summary: Bellatrix and her husband become Death Eaters and get their Dark Marks. Voldemort then decides to have a private moment with her, in which he tests how far the young woman will go for her master.


The crackle of the fire was the only sound within the small room, and the only source of light. Every window was boarded shut, but none of the four figures minded. They all preferred the dark.

Three of the four figures were cloaked and kneeling before the man sitting in the rooms only chair. Their faces were barely visible, but they were all staring adoringly at their master. He was like a shining star, a blinding orb, blotting out everything else from their vision. Especially to the young woman before him on his right, the third of the cloaked Death Eaters still in his presence. To her, he was everything. More than her husband next to her, more than her family, more than herself. More than the whole wizarding world.

The meeting of Death Eaters had ended a few moments ago, but the Dark Lord had requested that three of his servants remain. Lucius Malfoy, and the two newest Death Eaters, Rodolphus Lestrange and his new bride, Bellatrix. Her heart fluttered nervously, beating frantically like the wings of a bird.

This was her first semi-private audience with the Dark Lord since she becoming a Death Eater, and frankly, she was annoyed Rodolphus had to be here as well. Lucius, she could understand. Her brother-in-law was almost as dedicated to Lord Voldemort as she was. Almost. She got on better with her sisters' husband than with her own. In fact, she found Rodolphus sniveling and annoying at most times, and it was only to make her mother happy that she agreed to marry the dolt. It had been her idea to join the Dark Lord, and she had just managed to convince her cowardly husband to join as well. It wouldn't of looked good if a woman was loyal, but her husband was not.

"My lord," Lucious said silkily. "What do you wish of us?"

Bellatrix, who dared not look her master in the face, stared at the water stained floor boards and tried not to fidgit noticeably. Was the Dark Lord sending such an inexperienced and unMarked Death Eater like herself on a mission? It was too big of an honour for her to fathom.

"Malfoy, my faithful servant. You have been in my services for nearly a year now, haven't you?" Bellatrix's heart skipped a beat, like it always did when she heard her Lord Voldemort speak. His voice was frozen and revealed no emotion, yet somehow managed to be smooth as caramel and rich as chocolate.

Malfoy nodded on the other side of Rodolphus. "Yes, nearly, my Lord."

"And you have brought me many recruits in that amount of time, some of which are turning out to be quite the assets," He rose from the chair, and Bellatrix now stared wide-eyed at his feet. Beneath his black robes he wore polished, black leather shoes, the same kind her father used to wear. But even just for shoes, they looked a hundred times better on the Dark Lord than on anyone else.

Voldemort then put a hand on her and Rodolphus' cloaked heads. Bellatrix gave a start, not expecting his touch.

The Dark Lord continued on like he hadn't noticed. "You have even brought me the Lestranges. I am pleased." He cupped Rodolphus' face, and looked him in the eyes. Bellatrix could almost hear her husband's beating heart, and she shot him an envious glance. _He is not worthy of the Dark__ Lord_, she snarled to herself.

"Do you love your master?" Voldemort asked the cowering wizard. "Would you do anything, kill anyone for him? Even if it meant sacrificing your own life?"

"Yes, m-my Lord. Of course. A-anything." His voice was barely a squeak. _If you make us fall out of the Dark Lord's good graces, I will kill you myself_, Bellatrix silently promised.

Voldemort paused. "I shall have Malfoy take you under his wing. He shall further your studies in the dark arts." The tone in his voice made Bellatrix think that he had sensed Rodolphus's hesitance. But without another word, the Dark Lord took hold of her husband's left forearm and shoved back the black sleeve of his cloak up to the elbow.

The greasy white skin shone in the firelight, and from within his robes, Voldemort pulled out his thin, pale wand. To Bellatrix, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Just imagining all the power the instrument possessed and how many lives it had taken was enough to make her feel giddy. She watched as he pressed the tip of the wand onto her husband's arm and how he cringed with pain as it dug into his flesh.  
In a language that sounded more like that of a snake than of a person, Voldemort hissed a spell. Swirls of black-green ink flowed from the tip of his wand, moving swiftly over the pale skin to take the form of a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth. The Dark Mark.

After a moment, when the shape settled, Voldemort withdrew his wand from Rodolphus. He grasped his forearm tightly as if it were bleeding. His whole body was shaking like a trapped mouse. "Th-th-thank you, M-master," The brown-haired man whispered, before collapsing on the floor.

Bellatrix couldn't hold back her sneer of absolute disgust.

"You think you'll do any better?" Voldemort challenged, and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

"Yes, my Lord," she answered as steadily as she could, still unable to look at him. A cold hand flew across her face, knocking her backwards to the floor.

"You shall look at me when I speak to you!" He thundered.

Righting herself, Bellatrix flipped her head up, looking him straight in the eyes. She gasped at the pure awe of him.

Lord Voldemort stood like a cobra risen for attack, his back straight and his brown eyes gleaming. His defined jaw, narrow cheek bones and thin, apathetic lips complimented each other perfectly. His short, black hair was groomed back, also perfectly, and Bellatrix couldn't help but be amazed at how handsome he was. His eyes drilled into hers, but she knew that if she backed down now, she would be failing her Dark Lord's test.

"Yes, I will do better than my husband. I am stronger than he is, more loyal, more obedient. I will never fail you," she answered again. Voldemort's lips twitched, almost into a smirk. Malfoy gave her a slight, approving nod.

"I know you are," spoke the Dark Lord. "Your master sees inside your heart. Now, do you love me? Would you do anything, give anything for me? Even if it meant your life?"

Bellatrix nodded vigorously. "Yes, Master. Oh yes, yes, yes. I am your most faithful servant. I belong to you, mind, body and soul."

Voldemort motioned with his wand. "Good. Now give me your arm."

She had it out and offered to him before the words were entirely out of his mouth.

Just like she had imagined, the pain was burning sweet. The spell moving over her forearm seemed to stimulate every nerve and sent a wave of pleasure crashing over her. But quick as it had began, it was over. And while she longed for more, Bellatrix didn't dare say anything so foolish. She looked down at the image now scrawled into her skin and felt her heart flutter with glee. A sign of her undying love and devotion. A part of her master, forever etched in her.

Bellatrix looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh thank you my Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Voldemort bent his head a fragment in bored acknowledgment. "Rise, my Death Eaters.''

Both Malfoy and Bellatrix complied, while Rodolphus, still unconscious, remained on the floor. Lord Voldemort barely glanced at him, then turned to Malfoy.

"Malfoy. Take Lestrange to your home for the night. As soon as he wakes I want you to begin his tutoring. He shall not be brought into by presence until he is a more competent wizard," The Dark Lord then looked back at Bellatrix. "Mrs. Lestrange shall remain here with me for the moment. I must speak to her in private."

Bellatrix couldn't believe what she'd just heard. A meeting? In private?! She felt her cheeks turn crimson and she looked down from his eyes.

"Yes my Lord," Malfoy answered. He must have been as surprised as she was, but he didn't let it show in his voice. Pulling her good-for-nothing husband over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he bowed to Voldemort, then disappeared in a swirl of cloaks and robes.

And Bellatrix was alone with her Dark Lord.

Voldemort stood facing the fire place, his his arms crossed behind him and back facing her. All was silent for a moment, and the only sounds were that of the dying fire and the lone howl of a wolf in the distance; Greyback.

"Your husband is a coward and a fool." It wasn't a question, just a matter of fact.

Bellatrix didn't deny it. Didn't _want_ to deny it. Rodolphus was slime compared to the glorious being before her. "Yes, he is. But I'm sure you could find some use of him, even if only to amuse yourself by killing him." The tone in her voice was almost hopeful.

The Dark Lord chuckled, genuinely amused. "Perhaps. But there are better ways to keep myself preoccupied. And under Malfoy's tutelage I have confidence he can be transformed into something at least half useful." With a hand, he motioned towards her. "Come. I wish to see you properly by the firelight." She quickly strode over to him, pulling back her hood.

For what seemed to Bellatrix as wonderful hours, Voldemort examined her, his eyes sweeping over her face, up and down her body, and back to her eyes.

"Yes," He concluded to himself. "Just as I thought. Quite beautiful." Her heart continued to beat even faster and she was sure she was the colour of a beet.

"Thank you for such kind words," Bellatrix answered. "My husband seldom takes the time for words like those, and I am honoured to be noticed by one as grand, as hallowed as yourself."

"Hallowed? Me? No, not yet. I still have a ways to go before I can become the god I was meant to be." The Dark Lord reached out and brushed a piece of hair away from her face, his touch sending tingles up her spine. Shivers of excitement. "For now, I am still just a man."

His cold hand moved down her cheek to cup her face. She leaned into it, yearning to touch his cool fingers with her own. But touching the Dark Lord was something you only did in your last breath of life.

"My Lord..." Bellatrix said softly, transfixed by the catch of his gaze. He tutted amiably.

"Do you know who I was before I became Lord Voldemort?" He inquired, almost genuinely.

"You were the man destined to be the Dark Lord." She answered without hesitation. Voldemort smiled.

"Yes. But I also went by the name of Tom Riddle," He grimaced for a moment, although the expression did not mar his handsome face. "I've always hated the name. But for tonight, Bellatrix, I would like you to call me Tom. Not master, not the Dark Lord, not Lord Voldemort. Just Tom."

She once again shivered with exhilaration when he said her first name. He said it like someone speaking of a fond childhood memory, or a breathtaking landscape seen for the first time. Or the name of a lover.

"Say it." He ushered, edging towards her so that they were now only inches apart.

"Tom." She whispered, the name barely audible. Bellatrix liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Voldemort, or Tom, now held her face with both hands. Before she knew what was happening, her eyes had flitted shut and Tom's mouth had landed on hers.

The kiss was soft at first. Not hesitant or tentative, just tender and polite, like an action to properly acquaint themselves. Bellatrix wasn't sure what to do with her hands; should she touch him? Would it be, in this instance, okay? Tom answered that question by sliding his hands down from her face to her hands, momentarily touching her fresh Dark Mark on her left forearm and sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through her, and guiding them around his waist and shoulders. Their bodies close together, the kiss deepened. She clutched his robes, sure that if she were to let go he would disappear.

At some point, he backed Bellatrix against the wall next to the fireplace. Tom tasted cold and electrifying, like a mint so strong that it made your mouth turn numb. Which was what was happening to her. Her knees, her legs, her entire body felt completely jelliod. His hands expertly traveled up and down her body, making Bellatrix thankful that there was a wall behind her because she knew she would collapse if it wasn't. He then started to kiss her neck, starting from her collarbone to just below her ear.

"You said you belong to me, mind, body..." He placed a kiss on her jawbone. ''And soul." Tom pulled away just far enough so he could look her in the eyes. "Will you keep that promise with me tonight?" His voice was husky with desire.

She knew what he wanted, and couldn't have said no, even if she wanted to. To refuse the Dark Lord was like signing a death sentence. She was putty in his hands, and he knew it. Lucky for Bellatrix, however, she had meant every word she said. Every ounce of her being belonged to him, and she would gladly offer her body to Voldemort- no, to Tom, she amended- for whatever enjoyments he saw fit. And perhaps, she might enjoy it too.

"Of course," She breathed, letting her hands fall from his neck, of which they had been looped around. "I'll do whatever you want."

Aware of his dark eyes hungrily on her, Bellatrix removed her cloak and outer robe so she stood only in the casual sleeveless black dress she wore underneath. Silently, Tom placed a hand on the pale skin exposed over her left breast, then swiftly moved down each dress strap so that they fell below her shoulders. The want in his eyes was purely carnal, like an animal waiting for the kill. Still meeting those eyes, she let the dress slide off her body to the floor. He assessed her bra and knickers like a small annoyance to be hastily removed.

Tom lay her on the old Persian rug before the fireplace, which was the best available spot. He removed his own clothes faster than Bellatrix reckoned possible. Later she realized he had probably used magic.

She wasn't sure how long they were together. With the windows boarded, there was no way to look outside and guess the time. The fire burned itself out soon after they began, and the darkness intertwined with them like it itself was a conscious being. Bellatrix couldn't see him, but could feel his cold flesh that never seemed to warm, even against hers. Every so often an invisible voice would breath her name in her ear; "Bella", the name no one besides her sister was allowed to call her. Not even her husband. But of course, the Dark Lord was an exception to every rule she held dear.

When he decided they were finished, Bellatrix sensed him get to his feet. A bundle of cloth landed on her, and the fire sprang to life on its own accord. Tom was pulling on his trousers and she saw the clothes he had thrown to her was her own garments.

"Dress." He commanded. She obeyed, not speaking a word. When they were both fully clothed, Bellatrix turned to face him. From the look on his face, she knew he wasn't Tom anymore; he was once again Lord Voldemort.

He surveyed her apathetically, his hands behind his back. For a moment, she was worried he hadn't been pleased by her. Then he gave a small sigh.

"I intend for us to meet like this again, Mrs. Lestrange, if you are so inclined." She was pleased that he at least pretended that this new development in their relationship, if it could be called that, was dependent on her choice. It wasn't, of course, but it was still a nice gesture.

"Yes, my Lord," She answered.

Bellatrix thought she saw the phantom of a smirk upon his lips, but it was gone before she could be certain. "Excellent. Then to placate your husband as to why you shall be sometimes mysteriously away, tell him I am teaching you in the Dark Arts, as Malfoy is teaching him," He paused. "This may be an alibi, but I have decided I will be teaching you these things none-the-less. So it won't even be a lie." He seemed momentarily pleased with himself, as if this was the first time in a long time that he could say such a thing.

Shagging sessions _and_ lessons from the Dark Lord? Bellatrix thought herself the luckiest witch in Britain. _No, the world_, she corrected merrily.

''Thank you, my Lord,"

This time she did see a smirk. "Indeed," Voldemort motioned towards the door. "You may now leave. You shall be contacted through the Mark." Wordlessly, he turned away from her started gazing into the fire. She wasted no time lagging about in the room, as much as she didn't want to leave him. But when the Dark Lord orders you, you'd better damn well obey, no matter who you are.

Almost in a sort of trance, Bellatrix walked down the creaky hallway and stopped above the decrepit staircase. Her heart was still pounding from being with the Dark Lord and she wanted to compose herself before returning home. Hopefully Rodolphus would still be with Lucius. Her husband was the last swine she wanted to see, short of a Mudblood.

Bellatrix knew Lord Voldemort didn't love her, never _would_ love her. The Dark Lord had no such weakness. But if having meaningless sex with him meant she could, for a time, pretend that he felt the same way about her as she felt about him, then she'd do it. Hell, if it made him happy, she would kill her own mother. It would be foolish of her to think even for a second that whatever he may say or do during their secret rendezvous meant that he loved her and truly wanted to be with her. He was too strong, too powerful to be mastered by something as trifle and pathetic as emotions.

Now, if only she could be the same.


End file.
